


Youth and Truth

by corullance



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hunter!Chris, M/M, also pack, background Scott/Allison, human!peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:22:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3185387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corullance/pseuds/corullance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pack finds out that Chris and Peter had a thiiiing in high school. How did it end? Why? And what will happen now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Youth and Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salazarsslytherin (dust_ice_fire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dust_ice_fire/gifts).



> For the Petopher Secret Santa Exchange! :D

So it was a trap.

Not really unexpected, at least to Peter, but no one ever listens to him and as traps go, this one is a mere inconvenience. They’ll be stuck here for a few hours and then the spell on the door will let up.

Of course nothing can be as simple as that. It’s quickly revealed that there is a strong truth spell attached to the binding spell on the door.

Peter laughs silently to himself. Perhaps the intention of the spell weaver was to have the unfortunate victims kill each other. Truth will out, is the saying, but it’s not usually true and even more so it shouldn’t be true. There are some truths that should stay hidden.

The children would do well to keep their silence, if they also want to keep their friendships, but of course Stiles doesn’t see the potential for harm. He only sees an opportunity, leverage.

He leaps face first into their private lives, into all the grudges he hasn’t been sure whether or not to keep.

It’s a miracle that no one has gone for anyone else’s throat, though they are all seething or sad, by the time Stiles’ piercing gaze turns to Peter.

“How many people have you killed?”

“Boring.” Peter says. What an unimaginative question. “Seventeen.” He replies eventually.

There’s no point in fighting it. The spell will force him to say it sooner or later.

He briefly considers answering in Russian but Derek would just translate. Besides, this might be the only time they’ll actually trust his answers.

He may as well take advantage of it.

“How many have _you_ killed, Sherriff?” Peter asks, since they all have this power equally, the power to compel the truth from someone who is asked a question.

“Twelve.” The man admits after a teeth-grinding reluctance.

“Not so dissimilar a number.” Peter notes, lightly.

“Do _not_ compare your murdering self to my father.” Stiles replies hotly.

Peter smiles and shakes his head leaning back against the stone wall. He is a murderer, technically, he supposes, but he had his reasons.

“When was your first? When did your eyes turn blue?”

“The fire,” Peter replies blankly, “was the first time I killed an innocent.”

“But not the first time you killed.” Derek reveals.

Peter rolls his eyes again, “No, not the first time I killed.”

“How about you, Argent?” Peter calls to the hunter sitting across the room from him. This line of questioning is getting uncomfortable. “When was the first time you killed?”

“You should know, Hale. You were there.” Comes the deep gravelly voice.

“ _That_ was your first kill?” Peter asks, surprised enough to reveal more than he intended. He’d had no idea that was the first time Argent had killed. Of course, he’s twisting the question. The kill he is referring to was decidedly not human.

Peter sees Allison and Lydia share a glance.

“You two had met before?” Lydia is the one who asks, more the talker than Allison is.

“Yes.” They both say in unison, and Peter glares at Chris who glares right back.

“When?” Allison asks, without thinking.

They have no idea what they are about to reveal and it’s very disconcerting, even dangerous. They aren’t being at all careful about this. They’re too young to really know the power of secrets and when to keep them. There are things Peter would rip out his tongue before answering.

He really hopes it doesn’t come to that though. Messy. Very messy.

“High school.” Argent says before Peter gets to answering and the compulsion on Peter lifts, which is interesting. So as long as he can hold out against the compulsion longer than Argent he won’t have to explain at all. He’s very content to leave the talking to Argent in this case.

“You guys knew each other in high school?” Stiles yelps.

Derek is looking at Argent like he can’t quite picture him as a high schooler.

“Did you know each other? I mean, did you know what each other was?” Allison asks, still trying to grasp the details.

“Not at first.” Peter volunteers. “We found out after our…initial acquaintance.”

“Oh, is that what you’re going to call it?” Chris asks. The words are flippant but the tone betrays a deeper hurt.

Peter growls, but the truth spell is compelling him and he is forced to speak, “I call it—a mistake.” Still, the truth spell is not satisfied and drags the full truth from his mouth. “The doomed romance of naïve children.”

There’s a collective silence while the others digest what Peter has admitted.

“Are you saying—Hold on! Are you saying you two _dated_? In _high school_?” Stiles asks.

“Yes.” Peter says quickly, getting the admission over with.

“Dad, what…?” Allison begins, but she doesn’t have a real question, still obviously shocked. Most of them are.

The sheriff looks more wary and Derek is staring at Peter with a look of concentration, as if trying to recall any hint of such an association when he was younger.

Chris sighs heavily, “It was a long time ago. We were young and foolish. He’s not wrong about that.”

Peter snorts quietly. When is he ever wrong about that sort of thing?

“So when you didn’t want me dating Scott because he was a werewolf…that was just hypocrisy?” Allison asks with that tight anger of hers.

“No. It was different.” Chris says glancing at Peter and Peter raises a brow. He knows what Chris is trying to avoid saying, but there’s no way they’ll get out the conversation without it coming out. Still, he appreciates the effort that Argent is going to.

“How was it different?” Allison demands.

There it is.

“I was human then.” Peter replies to the shock of everyone but Derek. Even Chris is surprised that he admitted it with so little fanfare. Peter grins at their surprise. At least that is entertaining, even if he’s had to reveal personal information he would sooner have had concealed forever.

Peter claps his hands and rises from his position sitting against the wall. He approaches the main group from his original position, as always, on the periphery of their little group.

He places himself in the center, settling back to the floor sitting cross-legged.

“I think it’s time for a little story.” He says with obviously false cheer.

“A story of two star-crossed lovers, of romance, of betrayal,” He flounders and then adds, “of _idiocy_.”

“Peter.” Chris warns, but of what Peter isn’t sure.

“What?” Peter snaps, “It will come out anyway, as long as we’re in here. Are you _ashamed_?”

“No.” Chris replies, sounding decisive.

Peter narrows his eyes. That’s…somewhat unexpected.

“I want to hear, dad.” Allison says softly. “I want to understand.”

Chris nods and takes over the storytelling as Peter ponders his answer.

“What you have to understand is that Beacon Hills was different then. The Hale pack was a force to be reckoned with and the area was stable. The Nemeton was quiet. Things were calm. There was a…tentative and unspoken truce between the pack and the hunters.”

Peter snorts. “It wasn’t a truce. It was an equilibrium.”

“What’s the difference?” Scott asks.

“A truce doesn’t rely solely on balance of powers. It continues even when one side gains an advantage. Not so for us.” Peter explains bitterly. True, it had been a more stable time, but it had been an easily shattered peace. Fragile and transient. He hadn’t understood just how tentative things were when he was young, but he saw the truth of it now.

“So, it all began in chemistry class.” Peter begins the story, tired of the squabbling. “Chris was the new student. He transferred in the middle of the year.”

“And you were so obnoxious that no one else could stand to be your lab partner.” Chris interrupts.

Derek snorts in surprised laughter as Peter scoffs.

“Half the class was afraid of you.” Peter retorts. “You looked like you were going to stab someone.”

“Almost did a time or two.” Chris replies with a hidden, but toothy grin.

Peter gives a reluctant huff of laughter, recalling a particular incident in the cafeteria involving tying the shoelaces of one of the more rude staff members and the liberation of said staff member’s illicit stash of whiskey during the ensuing distraction. They had made an excellent team.

“You were a troublemaker.” Peter recalls, something almost like fondness in his voice.

Stiles snorts. “And you weren’t?”

“No.” Peter says with some surprise, although of course they would think that. “No, you see, it was important, imperative not to bring attention to ourselves. Even though I wasn’t a wolf then, bringing attention to the family was forbidden. Besides that,” Peter shrugs, “It’s hard to relate to other teenagers when what you’re really interested in figuring out is learning how to enchant the furniture to fly out from under your relatives.”

“Fair.” Stiles says with an expressive half-nod.

“In any case, we became…unknowingly entangled.” Peter says and he’s glad for the low light, because he might be just in the beginnings of a blush.

Because it’s embarrassing enough admitting to high school crushes. It’s even more so when that high school crush so horrendously failed and has earnestly tried to kill you.

“Unknowingly entangled?” Chris asks, with a skeptical look on his face.

Peter’s fully blushing now, partly from embarrassment, but mostly in anger. This damned spell. Damn it to hell. He’ll never come along on one of these ridiculous quests again.

“I fell in love with you before I knew who you were.” The spell drags each word from him forcefully and he resists. “Like an idiot.” He adds viciously.

Chris rolls his eyes in anger and looks away. “You always were overly dramatic.”

“And you were always too proud of your stoicism to realize that you aren’t a machine.” Peter counters. “Even if you wanted to be one.”

“Ok, I’m lost.” Stiles says. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“Because it’s boring.” Peter answers truthfully once again. “It isn’t the falling in love that was special. That was typical, your average high school romance, full of drama and unrealistic expectations. The story begins where we realized what we each were.”

“I was surprised when I found out your name was Hale.” Chris admits, “But I tested you. That time in chemistry when I accidentally cut you? There was wolfsbane on that scalpel. I thought it must be some mistake. That you just had the same name.” Chris shakes his head. “Our information didn’t mention any humans in the family.”

“Well, they wouldn’t would they?” Peter shrugs.

“When did you realize that I was a hunter?” Chris asks.

“I knew from the beginning.” Peter is forced to admit and Derek perks up in alarm and censure, but this one Peter can play off. “The danger was part of what was so attractive about you.” He laughs bitterly. “But it was just in fun. I never thought there was any real danger. I thought Talia was invincible then.”

“You told me you only realized after you saw the name “Argent” in one of the old texts you used to read!” Chris says, offended by the years-old lie.

“Yes, well I wasn’t under a truth spell then.” Peter replies with a smirk.

“What happened?” Lydia asks, clever voice so sharp. Always getting right to the point. “Something must have happened, right?” She’s looking at Peter with those knowing eyes, wondering what had happened to take him from bookish human high schooler and former paramour of Chris “honor” Argent to becoming the monster he is now.

“Of course.” Peter replies. “Something always happens.”

 

 

“We should leave now. Today.” Peter insists from the log he’s sitting on. “The longer we wait…”

“I know, Peter, but I have a duty.” Chris replies, sending a skipping stone across the small pond which lies just on the outskirts of Hale land and deep in the forest.

“Oh, fuck your duty. You don’t have a duty to your insane family.” Peter retorts.

“Not to my family, Peter.” Chris says in a put upon tone, as though he had made this argument many times before, “To the people who live here. I was sent here to do a job and it’s my duty to protect these people. I can’t just leave while there’s some sort of monster roaming in the woods.”

“I told you, Talia will take care of it. These are Hale lands. It’s Hale work to protect them.” Peter replies, standing up from the stump and going over to Chris.

“I can’t leave until the lamia is dead.” Chris insists throwing another stone into the lake and avoiding Peter’s gaze. He hates arguing. “Children are going missing. Two already.”

“And if it were a lamia we would already know. Talia would have found it by now. They aren’t very smart you know.” Peter crosses his arms.

“I know. You’ve told me enough times already.” Chris says. “I don’t want to argue, Peter. I won’t leave until the situation is resolved one way or another.”

“Fine.” Peter pouts. “I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to, I suppose.”

“Hmph!” Chris harrumphs and leans over Peter for a soft kiss. “There are lots of things that I _do_ want to do with you, though.”

Peter grins as Chris’ hands slid lower to grip his ass and then abruptly pushes Chris away.

“Cheeky.” He says, “You’re not getting anything more than a kiss until we’re long gone from Beacon Hills.”

“Peter!” Chris moans.

“I have to give you some incentive to hurry it up.” Peter smirks.

“You are terrible.” Chris asserts peevishly, but there is laughter under his voice.

“You love it.” Peter replies.

“I do.” Chris says, catching Peter up in another embrace. “And if kisses are all I get you’d best be prepared to give out a lot of them.”

Peter seals their lips in a passionate kiss full of urgency and lips and tongue. They are both panting by the time they part and Peter’s eyes have glazed over in lust.

Chris chuckles low, “Are you sure you’re going to be able to follow through on that threat?”

Peter’s eyes clear and he shoves Chris away again, laughing.

“Maybe not, but I can still make it a challenge for you.” And he takes off running through the forest.

Chris feels a pang of unease at the back of his mind. The lamia is still on the loose. It only eats children, but still. He doesn’t like the idea of Peter running off through the forest alone. He’s not a hunter. He doesn’t have any protection.

Chris shakes his head and sprints off after Peter. Peter is in no true danger. He knows these woods better than anyone except maybe his werewolf family. He’s been running in them for his whole life, after all.

Chris will catch him soon enough anyway. Then he’ll hunt the lamia, kill it, and then they’ll be free to start new lives and leave the Beacon Hills and the supernatural world behind.

 

 

Chris goes hunting. It’s a slow process. Days and nights of tracking and mapping and caution, which Peter is grateful for (the caution that is), but it’s hard keeping secrets in a family of werewolves and he’s so tired of waiting. They’ve finally graduated. They can leave any time.

He wishes he could help. He’s read all the bestiaries and tomes of the Hale library. Most of them he’s read two or even three times, but he isn’t trained to fight. Chris has taught him a couple things and he seems to pick them up quickly, but he’s never used a gun and he doesn’t have Chris’ reflexes.

He’s reading an old favorite tonight, not a bestiary, just a book and the news is on the tv in the background. It’s quiet tonight. Cora and Derek are on a sleepover field trip for school and Talia and Nathan are out on a date, taking advantage of the rare night alone.

He perks up at the news of another murder on the news. It’s tragic that another family has lost a child and Chris will be terribly upset tomorrow when they meet. He always feels personally responsible.

Only the news is reporting that the victim is an adult, nearly into their forties! That can’t be right.

It’s not a lamia. It can’t be.

Peter lunges towards the tv, although proximity will not make the information any more clear. There’s a warning for graphic content and then a picture of the crime scene. He skims it quickly, looking for any information that could reveal the nature of the true perpetrator.

The picture flickers away and the anchor is back, expressing banal condolences. Peter slams the heel of his hand against the tv. Nothing.

The anchor drones on, Peter listens raptly, but he’s not interested in the family or what neighborhood or…cause of death does interest him.

A poison, the news anchor says. Toxicology tests on the first two murders have come through and the third is looking similar. They are all scorpion venom.

That means there’s no way that it’s a lamia.

It also means that Chris is out there, hunting something that is much more dangerous than he anticipated. And Chris had said he was getting close tonight, that tonight might be the last night.

Scorpion. Scorpion…there aren’t so many scorpion beasts that it could be…not in California in the season. That must narrow it down. Peter sifts through the hoards of beasts he’s memorized, eliminating them one by one until he reaches a conclusion.

It must be an aqrabuamelu, a beast with head and torso of a man and the body of a scorpion. No wonder Chris had said the tracks were strange for a lamia.

Peter’s hands shake as he stands. There’s no way Chris is prepared to kill this thing. After its third kill, considering it started with children and has just graduated to adults, it’s getting more powerful. A gun won’t do much against it unless he gets it in the torso, not the largest target. What he really needs is an enchanted blade dipped in twice blessed sandalwood oil.

Shit. Shit!

They have an enchanted blade, he knows. It’s an antique though. It’s rusty and dull and practically fallen apart. They don’t have sandalwood oil, but olive oil…It’s the best he can do.

Peter moves.

He rips through the attic, probably damaging other priceless heirlooms in the process, but he finds the sword.

The blade is dinged and dingy, covered in rust and grime, but it’s enchanted and it’s a sword. Peter can see the spells moving underneath the steel, dim and sluggish, but there and that’s all he needs.

He takes the stairs two at a time to the kitchen where he offers a short, rushed blessing to the gods of the hunt and then pours olive oil over the blade. No effect is apparent, but this is the best he can do.

He grabs a flashlight, shoves his feet into his sneakers and curses the night and the dark and the scorpion beast and Chris’ family and himself, for not realizing sooner and not being able to fight, for not being a _wolf_.

 

 

“I don’t know what you were thinking.” Chris says, interruption Peter’s tale.

Peter scoffs. “You were the one who wanted to stay and be the hero. You were going to get yourself killed for your ridiculous sense of duty.”

“You loved me for my sense of duty.” Chris replies. “If I hadn’t, I would be the unrepentant killer you think all hunters are.”

Peter gives Chris a glare. “I loved you for a lot of reasons. Your sense of duty is the reason I came to hate you.”

“Why?” Chris says, angry now too, “Because I wanted to do the right thing?”

Peter laughs scornfully, “Doing your duty and doing the right thing are not always the same. That is a distinction you never came to realize.”

“No.” Chris says quietly. “I did come to realize it.”

Peter gives him a piercing look, but Chris doesn’t meet his gaze.

He resumes the story.

 

 

This is a terrible idea. He’s going to get himself killed. He only vaguely knows where Chris had thought he had discovered the nest of the creature anyway. It’s four miles away at least, maybe more.

He runs there, grateful for the training they’d had at basketball practice but brutally frustrated that he isn’t faster. Any of his werewolf family members would have been faster. They would have been able to find Chris by scent. Peter is just running around in the dark hoping that luck leads him to right place in time.

It’s a warm night, but Peter’s sweat is cold against his skin and he’s chilled. Every sound he hears, every ambient noise of the forest is threatening now. Every flicker of shadow or rustle of leaves has Peter’s heart jumping in his chest.

He makes it, though. He makes it to the place Chris had told him about, or at least a close approximation. He hunkers down with the sword and listens, straining to hear Chris, to find him so he can warn him, but he doesn’t hear anything.

He clutches the sword tighter to his chest and tries to breathe slower, quieter. He can’t believe that he’s too late. He won’t believe that, because that would mean Chris is already—no, he can’t even think about it.

Still, he can’t just sit here in the dark. It’s time to take a chance.

“Chris.” He calls softly. Then steels himself. “Chris!” He yells this time, loud, but still can’t help but flinch.

He tries again, yelling as loud as he can.

“CHRIS!”

The forest is deathly silent after the echoes fade. Peter stays still and small in the dark.

Then he hears it. Something is coming. There is a quiet rustling in the trees, so soft and far off, but he thinks it’s coming closer.

No, he’s sure it’s coming closer now. But is it Chris or the scorpion beast?

Peter shivers and holds the sword ready. Surely Chris would have called out by now. Unless he didn’t want to give away their position.

He holds his breath. The air feels heavy and the rustling continues. It seems…loud. Chris is usually softer when he walks through the forest. Maybe he’s in a hurry? Maybe he thinks Peter is in trouble?

But Peter already knows none of these things are true.

The aqrabuamelu is a hulking thing the size of a small SUV. It doesn’t emerge into the clearing so much as crash through it. The forest is obviously not its natural habitat.

It’s less than a few meters away from him. Peter trembles and presses himself further into the shaded side of the large tree he’s cowering under. Hopefully it won’t see him…or smell him or notice him at all.

It looks right at him, dark inky eyes seeking him out without any difficulty in the moonless night.

Peter stands slowly, trying not to startle it. It’s obviously noticed him already. He can run, but he doubts he’d be faster than this hulking thing.

He has the sword though. He can try to fight. He has to fight.

Peter lifts the sword and points it towards the scorpion man, edging sideways and back, giving ground, trying to get a little more distance.

He has no idea what he’s doing.

The thing approaches slowly and then leaps, eating the distance between them handily. It strikes at him with its whip-like stinger, almost faster than he can see.

It’s a feint and not a real attack, which is the only reason he doesn’t end up skewered. It’s just testing him, to see how dangerous this strange little human might be.

Peter flinches away from the strike, awkwardly waving the sword in its wake, but far too late to defend or even riposte.

It laughs at him, although it doesn’t sound like a human laugh. It sounds more like walking over gravel, but it’s obvious that the beast doesn’t think he’s a threat.

Peter would have to agree with it.

He backs up further, trying to put the tree between it and him, but it moves sideways easily. It doesn’t seem quite fair, since it has six legs and he only has two.

He has to do something though. He has to make a move, at least _try_. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want his family to wonder why he went out here alone at night. He doesn’t want Chris to feel even more guilt than he does at the deaths of civilians. Most of all, he wants to continue living.

He turns his analytical mind to survival.

There is an old oak tree, broad and strong, with many low branches almost forming a cage around the trunk, only a few feet away. Peter sprints to it. He uses the running start to run up the trunk, grab a branch and start climbing.

The gargantuan arthropod won’t be able to climb without ripping through the thick branches, which it may very well be able to. Still, it’ll buy him some time at least.

He keeps climbing as fast as he can, holding the sword awkwardly, not looking back at how close the aqrabuamelu is, though he can hear it pursuing him.

Then his hands are almost jarred from the branches as the tree gives a great shudder and he finally looks down. The aqrabuamelu has charged the tree, but does not appear interested in following him up the tree.

He keeps climbing anyway until he’s high above it and then he sits, trembling in the aftershocks of an adrenaline spike, clutching the sword to his chest.

It stays down there, watching him, waiting. Scorpions, Peter recalls, are not hunters so much as ambush predators. They’re waiters.

Once again Peter thinks how much easier this would be if he were a wolf. He could just howl for the pack. He considers the human version, simply screaming for help, but there’s unlikely to be anyone in the forest at this time, let alone anyone who would actually be able to help. He’s loath to accidentally lure some innocent hikers to their certain deaths.

Still, all he has to do at this point is wait. Talia and the others will come for him when they realize he isn’t home. They’ll track him and find him and he can throw the sword to Talia and the pack will take down the scorpion thing. Easy.

The thing roars below him and he flinches.

He’s certainly not looking forward to spending the night in a tree, but it beats getting dismembered, he guesses.

It’s almost a full hour later, an hour of quiet terror with the imminent threat of death hovering just a few vertical meters away, when Peter hears the first hint that something has gone terribly wrong.

At first he hears the rustling and joy and relief surge through him. It must be Talia back early!

His hopes sink when he sees the outline of the lone figure approaching. Talia has a taller more powerful build and she wouldn’t be alone.

It’s Chris. Of course it is. It’s Chris, who thinks the aqrabuamelu is a lamia. Chris, who doesn’t know the thing is invulnerable to most weapons. Chris, who doesn’t have an enchanted sword.

Several things happen at once. The aqrabuamelu screams and starts after Chris. Peter scrambles down the tree as quickly as he can without breaking limbs. Chris pumps several rounds, to no success, at the scorpion beast.

But it slows the thing down long enough for Peter to catch up to it and it’s finally not paying attention to him.

He lifts the sword and swings as hard as he can at on of the long segmented leg.

The sword glows and vibrates gently as it slices through the limb like sun warmed butter. In fact it’s so unexpectedly easy to cut through the Peter is put off balance and he stumbles.

The scorpion leaps to the side, enraged and afraid, but when it sees Peter off balance and unready it strikes hard and true with its whip like tail.

 

 

“That’s really all I remember, besides excruciating pain.” Peter says. “I think I remember it ran off and then we left too?” He turns to Chris for confirmation.

Chris nods, “I took you back to the Hale house. It was the closest place and you were…”

Chris’ eyes flicker away.

Derek speaks up then, the others too intrigued by processing the story, “I remember that night. We came home and mom and dad said you were sick. I don’t think Cora understood. She was a little too young, but I could tell that mom was really upset. I thought you must be really sick, but then the next day you were a wolf like us.”

Peter nods. “Yes, Talia bit me to save my life and those were the circumstances of my turning.” He leans back and closes his eyes, recalling his awakening as a wolf. He was grateful none of the young pups had been there.

He had cried, then screamed, then raged. Talia had come into the room and just held him and at first he had tried to get away, but she had held him fast until he broke down from exhaustion. It had certainly been a shock, trying to come to terms with his near death as well as deal with being a wolf. And Chris. He had known things were over between them as soon as he had seen his eyes flash gold in the mirror. Chris would never accept him this way. He doesn’t even want Chris to _see_ him like this.

“I thought you were going to die.” Chris says, in something of a non sequitor. “We got maybe a mile and you collapsed. I had to carry you the rest of the way. Talia found us about half a mile from the house.”

Chris grins, but it’s sad. “Do you know she knew about us the whole time? She didn’t even question why I, the child of a hunter, was carrying the son of a werewolf clan to safety.” He shakes his head.

Peter goes very still. “I didn’t know that.” He looks away thinking.

Chris nods and continues the story.

“She’s the only reason you’re still alive. She knew right away once I told her it was an aqrabuamelu that we wouldn’t be able to heal you without the venom from its tail. She told me about the sword and send me to kill it.” He recounts.

“She sent you alone?” Peter asks, shocked.

“She was the only one who had come and there was no time. She needed to stay with you in case…” Chris gestures towards him.”

“Huh.” Peter grunts. He never did find out what happened that night afterwards. He hadn’t even thought about it.

“You couldn’t kill it, then?” Peter asks out of idle curiosity. Obviously if he had been able to Peter would have been healed and would still be human.

Chris eyes go dark. “No, I killed it. Ran back for the sword, hunted it down and cut it to pieces.” He shakes his head. “I guess I was just too late.”

There’s a hint of bitterness in his tone and Peter wonders. Does Chris think Talia was too hasty with the bite or was he just disappointed in his own performance?

“I suppose we both were.” Peter says, resigned.

“But what happened after?” Stiles asks. “I mean you guys must have talked or something?”

“No.” Peter says. “We didn’t meet again.”

“ _You_ wouldn’t let me see you!” Chris yells. “You didn’t even let me visit to see if you were ok. I had to leave when the last time I saw you, you were having seizures and coughing up blood!”

Peter looks away and hunches his shoulders.

“Why wouldn’t you even let me talk to you?” Chris asks softly.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. I was a werewolf. You were a hunter.” Peter shrugs. “You never would have been able to accept me.”

“You never even gave us a chance.” Chris begs.

“Because I already knew the outcome.” Peter replies.

Chris shakes his head and mutters, almost to himself. “We should have run when you said. You were right.”

Peter laughs bitterly at that, startling the listeners.

“You think we would have done better on our own? Out there in the big bad world?” Peter scoffs. “I think we would have been eaten alive.”

Chris is quiet for a long moment. “You might be right about that.”

“Wow.” Scotts says. Allison is holding hands with him, looking a little stricken. Stiles is dissecting the story, examining each piece for useful information. Lydia is watching Peter and Chris with a sharp empathy and Derek is quietly contemplating. The sheriff is watching all the rest, cataloguing their reactions.

Peter sighs, “Two households both alike in dignity—“ he shrugs, “Of course it was going to end that way.” He snorts. “I’m surprised it didn’t end worse.” He looks at Chris. “If your father had found out he would have killed us both. And—“

Peter rises and examines the runes that run along the length of the cavern.

“I believe we are free to go.” Peter says walking to the door and tracing the outline of the center rune. The chamber trembles and the large stone doorway shifts open of its own power.

“Shall we?” Peter asks gesturing towards the next room, voice sharp and biting once again, “Or do you have any more questions, Stiles?”

The topic of conversation is obviously over and they proceed through the cavern. Chris and Peter meet eyes as Chris passes him, but he gives the human no hint of any emotion, only a look of challenge.

 

 

“You were so sure I would reject you that you didn’t even give me a chance.” Chris says immediately after Peter opens the door to his home.

It’s startling, because he hadn’t expected the topic to come up again and certainly not with so little lead-in, but Peter catches on quickly.

“What, not even a hello?” he quips, in place of a response.

“Why couldn’t you at least let me try? I only wanted to see that you were safe.” Chris continues, ignoring Peter’s joke.

“Because you _wouldn’t_ have seen me safe. You would have seen me dangerous, monstrous.” Peter snarls. “I was out of control those first few weeks. I was everything a hunter would have been sworn to kill. Talia had to chain me up in the basement.” Peter looks away, ashamed.

Chris looks pale but determined. “I would have waited. I could have helped—“

“It was too late, Chris.” Peter says, voice resigned and tired, “It’s one thing for a human to leave the pack. It’s something else for a bitten wolf. I had a connection to my family that I had never had before. I was finally one of them. I thought I could replace you with that feeling.” Peter laughs bitterly, “Instead I lost them too and it drove me mad.”

“I’m sorry it ended that way.” Chris says.

Peter looks Chris in the eye and, for the first time in their conversation sees his sincerity and reciprocates. “So am I.”

“I don’t blame you.” Peter continues. “It was the right thing to do to stay and protect the town.”

“You were right too, though.” Chris replies, “The world would have eaten us alive and spat us back out. A wolf and a hunter together? It would never have worked.”

Peter looks at him for a long time, regarding carefully, wary.

“Not then, but,” Peter looks away and hesitates, “Maybe now…”

Chris startles at what’s being offered, so unexpectedly. He’d had no intention of reigniting their relationship from so long ago. He couldn’t decide so suddenly and what would Allison think?

Considering what she had gone through with Gerard and Scott, he thought it likely that she would be sympathetic. She knew what it was like.

Peter is looking tenser by the second as the moment stretches.

“Peter, I—“

“No, you’re right.” Peter interrupts, usual smooth voice stilted, “It was a foolish thought. Too much has happened between us--.”

Peter is shocked into silence when Chris grabs a wrist and puts a hand on Peter’s waist, drawing him closer. His hand loosens it’s grasp on his wrist to merely twine his fingers with Peter’s and tha hand on Peter’s waist slides up to cup his neck, Chris’ thumb rubbing gently across the cheek.

Peter’s eyes are wide with disbelieving hope.

“My life hasn’t been perfect, but there have been good things that came out of it. Things I wouldn’t ever want to change.” He tells Peter, thinking mostly of Allison and Victoria. “But losing you was something I always regretted. You were the first person I loved and I carried the memory of you in my heart.” Chris steps closer still, until they are breathing the same air and their foreheads are touching and Peter is closing his eyes and swallowing a small wounded sound.

“Tell me you didn’t feel the same?” Chris asks him, but Peter can’t, can’t even speak, so he just shakes his head.

Chris smiles gently, stepping back to give Peter some space. Peter calms quickly and looks at Chris with a cautious hope. Then he slowly steps back, drawing Chris into his home.

Chris follows, as he had always been willing to do.


End file.
